Gemotions

The tea had gone cold, just like the story her father had always told. He always said his mother was a quiet, bookish soul who never cared for socializing. Michael pulled the album from the drawer. It was something he should have done years ago, but he never found the energy. He hadn't felt the energy to do anything lately.

The first photo showed his mother in a flapper dress, dancing with a man he didn't recognize. The man was smiling, and so was she. He could practically hear the jazz music, feel the excitement that must have been in the air. This was the antithesis of the woman he knew.

He flipped through the album. Each photograph revealed a different facet of her life, a kaleidoscope of experiences his father had conveniently omitted. One showed her on a beach with a group of friends, another riding a horse through a forest. He looked away, then back. He didn't know what he expected, but the truth didn't feel like a relief. The album clattered shut on the table.